Guerrero Taking Ames
by Staxia
Summary: A somewhat darker take on the Guerrero/Ames pairing. MA only, please. Feedback, as always, is welcome.


With a sigh, Guerrero grabbed her wrist, whipping Ames around as he wrenched it up behind her back.

"Ow! Whatcha doing?" she squalled. Then she tossed her hair in his face and canted her ass backwards, "accidentally" brushing against his crotch. Guerrero frog marched her forward three steps, slamming her up against the ElDo, bent facedown over the hood.

"Guerrero! Damnit!"

He pushed the arm up another inch and her half-playful protests turned to a gasp of pain. "You're hurting me.".

"That's what you want, right?" Guerrero kept his voice calm, almost bored, as he unbuckled his belt one handed, the other keeping her firmly in place. "You want the bad boy and you want me to hurt you just a little, right?"

"I was just teasing."

"I know," he undid the snap on his jeans. The zipper was ominously loud in the deserted parking lot and she squirmed in his grip, making small noises. "You've been teasing me for six months now. It's getting old."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she snarled, her usual sass giving way to anger, threaded with fear.

He pushed on the arm, bringing it perilously close to doing damage. Her body froze to a quivering stillness. He could feel the pulse in her wrist, rabbiting against his fingers.

"You want the bad boy, you can have me," Guerrero continued, implacable, dispassionate. "Right here, right now."

He pulled a condom out of his jacket pocket and tore the package with his teeth. The noise made her crane her neck around, her eyes going wide. Then he stepped closer, letting his erection nudge against her skirt, and she shuddered as he bumped her legs apart with his knee, her whole torso heaving as she gasped for air.

"You can also say stop," he made it sound like the choice between a latte and a cappucino. "But if you say stop, it _all_ stops. No more teasing, no more flirting, no more waving your ass at me in the conference room. Do you understand?"

She shuddered in his grip.

_"Do you understand?"_ he repeated, pressing her harder against the hood of the Caddy for emphasis.

"Yes!" she gasped, open-mouthed.

"Yes what?"

"Yes! Just, yes! To everything!" she cried, her eyes shining as she looked back over her shoulder.

Guerrero gazed at the slim brunette, her breasts crushed against the El Do's hood, her arm in the small of her back, her cheeks flushed.

He nodded and, his eyes on hers, slowly lifted her hem up over the curve of her ass. She moaned and dropped her forehead to the hood when his fingertips grazed her thigh. Guerrero took a moment to savor the smooth skin against his rough fingers before grasping the flimsy strap of her thong and wrenching it.

The cheap silk snapped with a tearing sound and fell down her legs. His free hand on her hip, he stepped in closer. She made small eager noises and arched her back, pushing against him, slick and wet. With a hard thrust he slammed into her, burying himself deep in her heat.

Ames surged back, her pumping hips trying to set a frantic, hungry pace. Guerrero pushed slightly on her bent arm and tightened his grip on her hip, slowing her to his rhythm. She pushed against him but slowed after a second. He made a small murmur of approval and loosened the strain on her wrist. Then he pulled back, almost all the way out, hovering there for a long moment before slamming in again.

She cried out as he pulled out and thrust in again and again – long, slow, steady strokes that made her writhe. His pace didn't change, but he finally let go of her wrist to grip both her hips with his hands, driving even deeper. The change in pressure made her moan in pleasure. The moans rose to a crescendo and Ames clawed at the hood of the ElDo with her black-painted nails. As she bucked under him, Guerrero quickened his tempo and climaxed, his body convulsing once with a low animal cry.

Ames lay limply over the Caddy, her whole body coated in sweat and her ribs heaving, while Guerrero stepped back. He took care of necessary housekeeping, tossing the condom and tucking himself back in, buttoning and zipping. He'd just buckled his belt when she rolled over, her face slack with physical contentment, but her glassy eyes searching his face for... something.

Guerrero allowed her one small smile, eyebrow cocked over the rim of his glasses, before he tilted his head at the car.

"Better not have scratched the paint job on the ElDo."


End file.
